Broken Home
by CMPerry
Summary: Post Episode 9x13 "The Purge". Sam and Dean's talk escalates in to a huge fight, and Dean has no one left to turn to but Cas. Cas stays with Dean after Sam takes off, but the life of a hunter inevitable lands them both in grave danger. Will Sam come back when the lives of his family hang in the balance? And will Sam and Dean be able to fix their relationship before it's too late?
1. You Should Have Let Me Die

**A/N Set at the end of Season 9, Episode 14 - "The Purge". I was pretty mad at Sam for being a sensational asshat at the end of this episode so I wrote an alternative ending where Dean lays in to him a bit. Don't get me wrong, I love them both, but I felt like Sammy was being unfair so I decided to let Dean retaliate a little. **

**Probably a one-shot but I might continue if anyone would like me to. Needless to say, the dialogue in the first little section is from the episode, (no copyright infringement intended) so it's clear exactly where I picked up from.**

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><p>Dean sat alone in the kitchen after returning from a case at Canyon Valley, having encountered his very first Peruvian Pishtacos, one of which was sucking the fat out of his victims until they were nothing but human jerky on the floor. Sam would have been vacuumed himself if Dean hadn't killed the thing just in time. Just as he was mulling the case over in his mind, Sam appeared in the doorway at the atmosphere became instantly stiff and cold.<p>

"You know Sam, I saved your hide back there," Dean said, looking up at him. "And I saved your hide at that church. And the hospital." Sam just raised his eyebrows derisively and looked at the floor. "I may not think things all the way through, okay? But what I do, I do because it's the right thing." Sam scowled at him, but Dean held his gaze. "I'd do it again," he said, taking a sip of scotch from the glass in front of him.

"And that is the problem," Sam said, emotionlessly. "You think you're my saviour. My brother, the hero. You swoop in and even when you mess up you think what you're doing is worth it because you've convinced yourself you're doing more good than bad… But your not. Kevin's dead, Crowley's in the wind, we're no closer to beating this angel thing. Please tell me, what is the upside of me being alive?"

"Are you kidding me?" Dean said. "You and me, fighting the good fight. Together." Sam turned away with an exasperated sigh, and he looked like he was about to leave. He took a couple steps in to the corridor before turning back and sitting himself down in front of Dean.

"Just once," Sam said, looking intently at his brother. "Be honest with me. You didn't save me for _me._ You did it for you."

"What are you talking about?" Dean asked.

"I was ready to die," Sam said. "I was ready. I _should_ have died, but you, you didn't want to be alone. And that's what all this boils down to. You can't stand the thought of being alone."

"Alright," Dean murmured with a disbelieving, mirthless smile, and turned away from Sam, walking a few paces to the other side of the room. As Sam started talking again, Dean wondered how long he had been waiting to get all of this off his chest.

"I'll give you this much," Sam said, coldly. "You're certainly willing to do the sacrificing, as long as you're not the one being hurt." Dean couldn't believe what he was hearing. Had he not spent forty years in Hell? Didn't that count as a sacrifice? Because all the pain and the terror and the guilt was permanently etched in to his mind. That felt like a pretty damn real sacrifice.

"You wanna be honest?" Dean said, turning back to Sam, forcing down his indignance and trying to keep the conversation calm. "If the situation were reversed, and I was dying, you'd do the same thing."

"No, Dean, I wouldn't." Dean looked at him incredulously. "Same circumstances, I wouldn't."

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><p>"You wouldn't save my life?" Dean asked. Sam opened his mouth to speak but Dean interrupted him. "What happened to you, man? What happened to <em>us<em>? I've saved your skin more times than I can count and you used to want to save me too. But now you'd let me die just because you've become some bipolar, depressive son of a bitch with no interest in living anymore? Screw you Sammy, you don't get to decide whether or not to save me. We save each other. Always. No ifs or buts." Sam just sat there, his jaw stiff like a moody teenager waiting for the rant to be over, but Dean still wasn't done. "I mean it Sammy, if I had my time over, I would still stop you from closing over Hell and I would still get you out of that coma, because I would much rather have you pissed at me for bringing you back to life than have you floating around in the freaking netherworld, pissed at me for letting you die."

"Are you done?" was all he said. Dean could have punched him.

"No, I'm not done," Dean said. "Like it or not, we're family._" _Sam rolled his eyes. "I will never be done with us. I'm not as quick to give up on my brother as you are." At last, Dean elicited some reaction from Sam.

"Stop twisting my words," Sam said. "I never said I would give up on you, but if you wanted to die, if you were ready to go, I would let you because I'm not as selfish as you." Dean gave a short, bitter laugh.

"Bullshit, Sam. You let me rot in Purgatory for a _year _because you wanted out of the life. If Benny hadn't come along and got me out, I would _still _be in there because you didn't even try to find me. I could have been anywhere, man, and you just left me."

"You said you were over that," Sam said.

"Well I'm not over it!" Dean roared back, slamming his fist down on the table. Sam fell silent. They stood in stony silence for almost a minute, Dean too angry to speak, Sam's pride too injured.

"At the end of the day," Dean said, picking his words carefully, "I will always look for you. I guess I just thought you would do the same."

"Look," Sam said, "you're still my brother - "

"Oh I'm your brother now am I?"

"I don't want anything to happen to you but I just think we need to stop fighting fate. We're both going to die one day, and I'm tired of getting dragged back again and again in to this life. Maybe we should accept that when our time is up, our time is up."

"Since when were you such a defeatist? You used to have some fight in you man."

"Maybe I'm just sick of this life!"

"Here we go again," Dean said. "You have had every opportunity to quit being a hunter but you keep coming back, so don't you dare blame that on me."

"You're the one who talked me out of - "

"No, enough Sam. I asked you to come back to me when you were in that coma and you agreed. I didn't force you in to anything."

"That wasn't even you, that was Gadreel!"

"Look, I'm sorry that Gadreel turned out to be a raging douche canoe, and I'm really sorry that it got Kevin killed, but it doesn't matter who it was, you _chose _to come back so quit chucking the blame around."

"You know what, I don't want to talk about this anymore," Sam said, getting up to leave.

"That's right, give up again. You're getting pretty damn good at that," Dean said, following him to the door.

"Oh, get over yourself, Dean," Sam snapped. "I'm sick of trying to please you, you've turned in to this self-righteous, idealistic, pig-headed - " Dean punched him hard across the face and he stumbled in to the doorframe. When he looked back to Dean, there was blood on his lips and a sneer in his eyes. He shook his head and left the room without another word, slamming the door behind him.

Dean sat back down, hands shaking with fury, feeling completely betrayed. He went to put his head in his hands and realised that his knuckles were bleeding. He stood up so forcefully that his chair tipped over with a metallic clang, and he left the kitchen, heading for the front door. He grabbed another bottle of scotch and a glass and walked outside, sitting on the grass outside the bunker. He poured several large glasses and downed them swiftly, impatient to be rid of the sharp pain of anger and hurt that was clawing a hole in his chest.

"Cas," he said, his voice cracking as he spoke in to the silent air. "I…" He shook his head, poured another glass and finished it in one gulp. "I know you've got your own stuff going on but uh… I need you here. Everything's just falling apart. The one thing I thought I could really count on is just… gone." He felt hot tears sting in his eyes and wiped them away angrily. He looked up and saw nothing but the empty street.

"Dammit, Cas," he growled. He gave a shaky sigh and then in a sudden rush of anger, picked up his glass and hurled it in to the road where it smashed in to a thousand tiny pieces that sparked and flickered in the sun. He put his head in his hands and tried to steady himself. When he looked back up, he jolted with fright because a figure had appeared in the corner of his eye. Cas was by his side, sitting on the grass, knees bent, squinting in the sunlight.

"Jesus," Dean breathed, feeling his heart beat a little faster. Cas tilted his head slightly, with a little frown creasing his forehead.

"I am not Jesus," Cas said.

"I know you're not Jesus, Cas," he said. "You just about gave me a heart attack." Cas still looked confused.

"I don't understand. How could my presence induce a myocardial infarction?" he asked.

"It's a figure of speech, man," Dean said, exasperatedly. "I mean you scared me."

"Oh."

"You okay?" Dean asked.

"Fine," he said. "What about you?" Dean didn't know what to say, so he stayed silent. "Are you and Sam having difficulties?"

"That's one way to put it," Dean said, picking up the bottle of scotch and taking a long swig.

"You're bleeding," Cas said. His deep, gravelly voice had a note of concern in it as he looked down at Dean's hands.

"So is Sam's face," he said. Cas didn't seem to know what to say, so he reached out and took Dean's hand.

"Hey, dude, what are you doing," Dean said, looking down at the angel's hand covering his. Cas drew his hand away and the cuts on Dean's knuckles were gone. "Thanks," he muttered.

"Would you like me to talk to Sam?" Cas asked, watching Dean closely, his blue eyes even bluer in the sun.

"Probably best you don't," Dean said. "Not right now anyway." For the first time, Dean was glad that small-talk wasn't Cas's strong point. Just having someone sit with him was comfort enough, seeing as Sammy couldn't bare to be in the same room as him at the moment.

"I just wish we could go back to hunting Wendigos y'know? Before everything got so complicated." He sighed and stared up at the sky. "I thought family was the one thing I would always have," he continued. "But it doesn't seem to mean anything anymore."

"You told me once that I was part of your family," Cas said.

"Yeah?" Dean said. He couldn't remember saying it, but he didn't doubt Cas's memory.

"Well, family must mean something," Cas said. "Because you still have me."


	2. Plan B

**A/N Hello again! I was considering just making this story a one-shot but once I got started I kept thinking about how I wanted the story to continue, so here it is! I have something exciting planned for the next chapter too, so stay tuned! Hope you enjoy.**

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><p>Dean remained on the grass with his bottle of scotch, not wanting to move or face the situation that waited for him inside the bunker. He lifted the bottle to his lips, but Cas suddenly reached out and took it from him.<p>

"That is not helping," Cas said.

"Being sober isn't going to help either," Dean said. "Give it back."

"No."

"Cas, give me it, or so help me…" Dean reached over the angel, clumsily trying to grab the bottle even though his vision was becoming a little blurry. Cas put his hand over Dean's eyes and through the gaps in his fingers, Dean saw a flash of white light and heard his bottle shatter. He pushed Cas's hand off his face and saw that the very expensive bottle of scotch that the Men of Letters had left behind had been reduced to dust on the grass.

"You could have just thrown it in to the road," Dean muttered. "You don't need to use your ninja angel skills for everything."

"We're going inside," Cas said.

"No, we're not. I just punched Sam in the face, he's not going to want to talk to me."

Ignoring his protests, Cas stood up and hoisted Dean to his feet by the arm. The sudden change in altitude made him feel dizzy. The bunker door in front of him seemed to be swaying before his eyes. He took a shaky step towards the door and wondered whether he was going to fall over or throw up. Clearly noticing his complete ineptitude, Cas reached out again and touched Dean's forehead. With a slightly unpleasant lurch, he sobered up entirely.

"Well that was a complete waste of hundred-year old scotch," he muttered.

"Come on," Cas said, half guiding, half pushing Dean towards the door to face his brother.

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><p>Cas sat Dean down at the large, backlit table in the main room of the bunker. Dean felt too defeated to care that he was being shepherded around like a child. Cas called out for Sam, his deep voice echoing around the walls and almost immediately Sam appeared from the corridor, a large bag slung over his shoulder, blood still caked on his lips.<p>

"Where are you going?" Dean asked, looking up from the table.

"Anywhere," Sam said, not even looking at him. "I think we should take a break."

"We're not a damn married couple. You can't just take a break every time things get hard."

"Dean is right," Cas said. "I fear that your leaving will not solve anything."

"No offence, Cas," Sam said, "but this isn't really any of your business."

"It is my business when it affects my family."

"I'm not your family," Sam said, and for a split second, Cas looked hurt. Dean stood up furiously and lunged for Sam but the angel pushed him back.

"Take that back," Dean said from behind Cas's outstretched arm. Sam just shrugged coldly. "I can just about handle you being a giant ass-clown towards me, Sam, but don't you dare take out your pre-pubescent bitch fit on Cas."

"Well he isn't family, Dean," Sam said. "What do you want me to say?" He opened his mouth but he was too furious to form any kind of coherent argument.

"When I said this was affecting my family, Sam," Cas said, coolly, "I wasn't talking about you." Dean looked at the angel who now had his blue eyes fixed on him and Dean stared back at him with a mixture of surprise and gratitude while Sam looked taken-aback.

"What's wrong?" Dean said, feeling a kind of dark satisfaction at Sam's injured expression. "It's okay for you to disown your family, but you can't handle it when they do it to you?"

"I can see this discussion isn't producing the outcome I had hoped for," Cas said, almost to himself.

"What are you talking about?" Dean asked. Without another word Cas raised his arms and touched two fingers to each of their foreheads and the brothers slumped to the floor, completely unconscious.

"Time for Plan B."

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><p>Dean woke up on a dirty wooden floor, disoriented and confused. He heard a familiar groan beside him.<p>

"Sammy?" he said, sitting himself up and immediately looking for his brother. Sam sat up a few feet away from him, squinting and rubbing his head.

"I'm sorry I knocked you unconscious," said Cas, who was standing over them, completely unaffected by their trip. "But frankly, I was tired of listening to you."

Dean stood up and for a few seconds before he got his bearings, he couldn't understand why he had an overwhelming feeling of safety. He looked around to see piles of books, old dusty curtains, a big wooden desk. A hundred comforting sights and smells rushed back to him all at once and he realised where he was. He was at Bobby's. He was home.

"Why are we here?" Sam asked. But before Cas could answer, heavy footsteps sounded on the porch and Bobby walked through the door.

"Bobby," Dean breathed. He felt as though a crushing weight had been lifted from him at the sight of that familiar, bearded face.

"Hey, Bobby," Sam said. The older man stopped in his tracks.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked, raising the shotgun in his hand.

"Woah, Bobby it's us," said Dean. "Sam and Dean. Winchester."

"Do I look demented?" Bobby snapped back. "I know who you're supposed to be, but you ain't my boys."

"Yes they are," Cas said, stepping forward. "We have come here from the future."

Bobby looked from one brother to the other and then to Cas, staring at them with disbelief before finally lowering his gun.

"I can see we need to have a talk," Bobby said, taking in their defeated and empty expressions and Sam's burst lip. "But why did you need to come back in time to speak to me?" He looked to Dean who opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out, so he closed it again.

"Balls," said Bobby, shaking his head. "I'm dead, ain't I?"

"Yeah," Sam said.

"Ah well," he said, "not a lot I can do about it. And don't any of you boys dare tell me how or when I kick the bucket."

"We won't," Sam said, with a half-hearted attempt at a smile. Bobby looked at them again and sighed.

"What the hell has happened to you two?"

"It's a long story," said Dean, flashing Sam an accusing look. Without a word, Bobby turned and disappeared in to the kitchen. Dean turned around to Cas, not sure if he was angry or grateful that he had dragged them back here without their permission, but when he looked, the angel was gone. Bobby reappeared moments later with three beers in his hand.

"Sit," he said, pointing towards the faded, flower-patterned sofa. They took their usual spots, but Dean subconsciously pressed himself against the arm of the couch to avoid touching Sam. When he glanced over to his brother, he realised he was doing the same thing. "Talk," Bobby ordered.

Dean began to explain the situation as succinctly as he could, but Sam kept interrupting him angrily.

"Can it, Sam," Bobby said. "You'll get your turn." Dean continued his story, including the part where Sam said he would no longer save Dean's life. Bobby said nothing, but just raised his scruffy eyebrows and then gestured for Sam to start speaking.

By the time Dean had sat through Sam's stupid, defeatist speech about the inevitability of death and the hopelessness of everything for the second time that day, his hands were clenched in to fists, but he forced himself to stay quiet. When they had both told their sides of the story, they waited for Bobby to say something. When he eventually began to speak, Dean wished he hadn't.

"I never thought I'd be so disappointed in you boys," Bobby said. The words hit Dean like a bullet in the stomach. He kept his eyes fixed on the leg of the table, unwilling to meet Bobby's eyes and see how much he had let him down. "You have both made mistakes," he continued. "And I mean catastrophic mistakes that almost cost the lives of everyone on the entire planet." Dean noticed Sam look a little sheepish. "But everybody screws up. Only difference is, you boys have the fate of the world resting on your shoulders, so when you screw up, the consequences are a hell of a lot bigger. But you're supposed to look out for each other, stop each other from making complete asses of yourselves from time to time, and when things go wrong, you work through it together."

"It isn't - " Sam started, but Bobby cut across him. "I ain't finished Sam. Your brother has risked his life for other people more times than anyone else I've ever met, and most of the time he's risking his life for you, so don't you dare go telling him that he can't make a sacrifice, because when it comes down to it, that boy will give up everything for you, a hundred times over, and there was a time you would do the same. Get your head out your ass and deal with the life you've got. Take it from a dead man, it's not as bad as you're making it out to be so for the love of God, fight for it." Despite his shame, Dean felt a little spark of smugness as he listened to Bobby defending him.

"And you," Bobby said, rounding on Dean and taking him by surprise, "you're a far cry from perfect yourself. You're stubborn and a downright hypocrite half of the time. I know you wanna do your daddy proud and take care of Sam but he's a big boy now and he can make his own stupid choices. All you can do is be there for him so quit acting like a wounded puppy. Not everyone is going to be willing to make the same sacrifices that you are." Both boys stared resolutely at the floor.

"Honest to God, I never thought things could get this bad between you two. Ya idjits. You're all each other's got." Bobby stood up and both brothers stood up as well, discarding their untouched beers. "Now come here," Bobby said, pulling Dean in to a hug. "I suppose this is the last time you boys are going to see me alive so I guess this is goodbye." Dean stepped back and took a long look at that scruffy old man, all dressed in plaid with his worn out hat, wishing more than anything that he didn't have to say goodbye to him again because he wasn't just losing a friend, he was losing a mentor, a guardian, a father...

"I have a lot of good memories of you boys," Bobby said, hugging Sam as well. "Don't you go letting me down now. I didn't raise a pair of quitters. Now, get out of my house before your past selves get back. We're going to watch a movie, eat some popcorn, drink a couple beers and have a real nice time because that's what families do."

Dean heard the familiar sound of the Impala approaching the house. He heard the car doors slam and recognised his own voice. He must have said something funny because a second later he heard Sam bellow with laughter, so loud that the noise came through the window and echoed a little in the quiet house. Dean remembered this day. They had all watched a movie together, squashed together on the little sofa, and he and Sam got in to a heated debate about liquorice and peanut butter and banana sandwiches. It had been a wonderfully normal evening, the kind of evening that Dean missed desperately.

Suddenly Cas reappeared behind them.

"We have to leave immediately" he said. "You cannot meet your past selves." Dean took one last look at Bobby, who gave him a warm smile and a reassuring nod.

"Hey Bobby," Dean said, but before the next word was out of his mouth, he felt Cas's hand on his shoulder. A split second later, Bobby was gone and he was standing in the bunker again, feeling more lost and alone than ever.

Dean looked to his little brother, waiting to gauge his reaction.

"Listen, Sammy," Dean started.

"Don't Dean. Just don't," said Sam, bending down to pick up his bag and swinging it over his shoulder.

"You're still leaving?" he asked. There was a little part of him that really believed their visit to Bobby's would have made Sam see sense.

"I need some space for a while," he said, grabbing his jacket from the table. And without another word, he turned and walked down in to the garage. Dean and Cas stood in absolute silence as they heard one of the spare cars growl in to life. They heard hum of the garage door as it slowly opened and then the sound of the car faded away down the quiet country roads.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Cas said.

"It's not your fault," Dean said. "I'm just not sure this can be fixed anymore."


	3. It's All Fun and Games

Two long weeks passed and Dean and Cas worked together in vain to hunt down Metatron and Gadreel. They arrived back at the bunker after several days following up a lead that turned out to be complete bust and Dean was feeling frustrated and exhausted in equal measures. On occasion, when he wasn't drunk or angry, Dean felt sorry for Cas who had been enduring his foul mood without so much as a complaint. It was hard to tell with the overly literal, blunt Cas, but Dean thought the angel was being nicer to him as well. Not that he deserved it.

Dean had texted Sam twice since he had stormed off a fortnight ago but hadn't received any reply. After throwing his bag in to his bedroom, Dean sent him one last text. If he didn't reply to this one, Dean wasn't going to bother trying anymore.

*I don't want to have a heart to heart Sam, just tell me if you're alive,* he typed.

Ten minutes passed where Dean stared at his phone like a teenage girl waiting for a call from her date. At last his phone vibrated and a text appeared on the screen.

*Yes.*

That was it. One word in two weeks. Dean threw his phone on to the bed and stormed off to the kitchen. Cas was already sitting in there, staring blankly at the wall.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked, lifting a beer from the fridge and opening it.

"Thinking." Dean stared at him, waiting for the end of the sentence.

"Thinking? I can see that, Cas. What are you thinking about?"

"You."

"Uh… why?"

"You're sad."

"I'm fine," he said, and he almost sounded convincing.

"We should do something fun," Cas said, finally emerging from his thoughtful reverie and looking at Dean with a kind of perky half-smile, as though he was very proud of his idea.

"Like what?"

"We could play a game or watch a movie."

"We have work to do, man," Dean said.

"I know. And I am usually the one who doesn't like down-time, but unlike angels, you have a physiological need for enjoyment and I don't believe you are getting any." Dean smirked.

"I'm getting plenty thanks." Cas stood and walked over to him.

"You are no use as a hunter if you are burned out. You are worried about Sam and Metatron and Gadreel, not to mention Abbadon. The guilt of Kevin's death is still weighing upon you - "

"Are you supposed to be making me feel better?" Dean asked. "'Cause you're not doing a great job right now."

Cas frowned. "I'm sorry. Would you like to play Twister?" Considering he was such a powerful, occasionally murderous, borderline unstoppable celestial being, there was an innocence in Cas's face that Dean couldn't bring himself to say no to.

"Fine," Dean said, and Cas looked pleased. For the first time in weeks, Dean felt a tiny spark of warmth inside him, and he wanted to grab a hold of it. Cas was just leaving the kitchen when Dean called after him. "Hey, once we're done with Twister, what do you say you and me make some popcorn and finally get around to watching It's A Wonderful Life?"

"I would like that," Cas said. "Although I have no requirement for any kind of food, popped or otherwise."

"Yeah, Cas, I know."

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><p>Dean discovered very quickly that he was not good at Twister. He wasn't quite as bendy as he'd thought, and it didn't help matters that there was an angel intertwined with him, limbs everywhere. If it was possible, however, Cas was even worse than he was. His trench coat, jacket and tie lay in a pile on the floor after he discarded them in a vain attempt to improve his dismal performance, and he kept slipping as he tried to bend his arm underneath him in a manner that was not physically possible. Dean couldn't remember the last time he had laughed so hard. In fact, he wasn't entirely sure he could remember the last time he had laughed full stop.<p>

"I would be much better at this in my celestial form," Cas mumbled as he slid his leg underneath Dean who was currently bent backwards in a position that he was fairly sure most contortionists would find challenging.

"Yeah, but that would be cheating," Dean said, reaching out to spin the color wheel. "Right hand green, angelface."

"But you are occupying the green spot."

"Then reach further." Cas struggled with such a serious expression on his face that Dean could barely stop himself from laughing.

"Surely there is an easier way to do this."

"You got yourself in to this tangle, get yourself out of it," Dean said. As Cas reached for the green spot, his other arm slid from beneath him and he fell to the ground taking out Dean's right leg as he did so and they both landed heavily on the plastic mat. Dean punched Cas playfully in the arm.

"That was fun," he said, and he wasn't just saying it to spare the angel's feelings. Cas grinned back at him, clearly pleased that he had managed to make Dean happy. As he looked at Cas, Dean was vaguely aware of how different he looked without his trench coat, only wearing pants and his white shirt, sleeves rolled up, top two buttons undone. He looked a little smaller, Dean thought.

Dean put on It's a Wonderful Life and he had barely sat down before he was drifting off to sleep. He leaned back in to the sofa and the last thing he heard before warm, comforting sleep enveloped him was Cas's gravelly voice pointing out everything wrong with the movie.

He opened his eyes a little later to find that the movie was over and his head was resting on Cas's shoulder.

"Sorry, man," he said, straightening up awkwardly.

"You're cell phone emitted a low buzzing sound," he stated. Dean picked up his cell and saw with a mixture of happiness and apprehension that he had a text from Sammy. He opened it, but his face fell when he saw that the message contained only one word.

*Poughkeepsie.*

"Cas, when did I get this message?" Dean asked, jumping to his feet and pulling out two guns from the drawer nearest to him and stuffing them in to his waistband before throwing on his brown leather jacket.

"Thirty three minutes ago," he said. "Why?"

"We need to go," he said, looking around the room frantically. "Right now."

Cas grabbed his coat from the floor and ran after Dean who was already half way to the garage. They jumped in to the car and as soon as the garage door was high enough, they were out of the bunker and down the street.

"Dean, what's going on?" Cas asked, looking at him with confusion and worry.

"Poughkeepsie," Dean said. "It means drop everything and run. Sammy sent me it so something must be coming for us."

"But the bunker is warded against everything," Cas said. "We couldn't have been found."

"Look, man, I don't know what's going on but Sammy wouldn't say that unless it was something really serious."

"So we're just running away?"

"No, we're going to hide the car and find somewhere to stakeout the bunker. If something knows how to find us, I want to find out what it knows and then I want to stab it in the face." Cas didn't say anything else so Dean took his eyes off the road to check if he was still there. Sure enough, the angel was still sitting there, his dark brows creased in his usual serious frown. "You okay?" Cas looked back and him and smiled but then he whipped around to look out the front window.

"Dean look out!"

Dean slammed his foot on to the brake, the back end of the car skidding out with a screech. They spun across the road and Dean desperately tried to keep control of the car. The smell of burning rubber filled the air and he held tight to the steering wheel as the car came to a screaming, shuddering halt. Just a few feet in front of the Impala, a man stood calmly in the centre of the road with his back to them. He hadn't so much as moved. Dean got out of the car.

"Are you out of your freaking mind?" he yelled at the man. And then he recognised the back of that head.

"Crowley," he said.

"Hello boys," Crowley purred, turning around to face them. "Didn't see you there."

Dean slid his hand in to his jacket and wrapped his hand around the demon blade.

"Now, now," Crowley said. "I was hoping we could have a little chat." He glanced to Cas and added, "Alone."

"Not a chance," Cas said.

"I was hoping you'd say that," he said with a little smile. He stepped aside and revealed a sigil carved in to the tree at the side of the road and before Dean or Cas could react, he slapped his bleeding hand against the bark. Cas's yell was cut short as he was consumed in a burst of white light. Crowley had raised his other arm to cover his eyes so Dean seized his opportunity and grabbed him by the collar, throwing him against the front of the car, pressing the demon blade to his throat.

"Where did you send him?" Dean yelled, only just able to see as the blinding white light faded. "Where is he?"

"Relax, sweetheart," Crowley said. "I sent him back to heaven."

"Heaven is closed."

"I know," said Crowley, a devilish gleam in his eye. "So the poor bugger is going to slam face first in to those pearly gates and fall straight back down again. It's hilarious actually. I've been doing it to angels all week. You should see their faces when they land. All confused and broken - " Dean tightened his grip on Crowley's jacket, and pressed the blade harder against Crowley's throat until the smarmy grin slid from his face.

"What do you want Crowley?"

"I have a lead on Abaddon."

"So?"

"So let's go and get her you galloping moron," he said. Dean released Crowley and lowered the blade.

"I'm not helping you with anything else, Crowley. Go screw yourself."

"In your dreams, darling," he said, straightening up and adjusting his black tie. He gave a dramatic sigh. "So I went to all that trouble of luring you out here with that ridiculous code word of yours and you're just going to leave me high and dry?"

"You sent that message?" Dean asked.

"Do keep up."

"How did you get Sam's phone? Where is he?"

"If you help me, I might tell you," he said, taking a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing at the blood stains on his shirt sleeve.

"If you don't tell me where Sam is right now, so help me I'll- "

"Kill me?" Crowley asked. "Why don't we just give up this little dance we've got going on, hm? You aren't going to kill me and I'm not going to kill you."

"What makes you so sure?" Dean said, clenching the knife in his hand and wondering what would happen if he plunged it straight in to Crowley's skull.

"You need me alive, because trust me, you aren't going to want Abaddon in charge of Hell. Say what you want about me, but I'm efficient and I keep my promises. Hell, you might even say I'm trustworthy," he said, with a shrug. Dean scoffed. "Look," Crowley said, abandoning his vain attempts at pleasantries. "Abaddon will slay every last one of you for no other reason than because that's how she gets her lady-thrills. I, on the other hand, will not kill you or any of your little human friends unless they get in my way, so tell me, boy, whose side are you on?"

"Tell me where my brother is," Dean said, ignoring his question.

"Help me find Abaddon," Crowley countered immediately.

"No."

"Then you have your answer." With a snap of his fingers, Crowley vanished. Dean was suddenly torn between finding Sam, who may or may not actually be in danger, and finding Cas. His chest tightened as he thought of Cas falling from Heaven again. A lot of angels didn't survive the last fall. Crowley's voice appeared suddenly behind him and he whipped around. He had reappeared on the other side of the road, now holding an ornate silver pocket watch.

"If my calculations are correct," he said, pausing to look up at the sky, "your boyfriend should be landing any second now." Dean looked up at the grey and cloudy sky. "Oh there he is," Crowley said. "As punctual as a German train." Dean turned back to Crowley to see where he was looking but he was gone. Dean turned his gaze back to the sky and after a few seconds of frantic searching, he saw a yellow light illuminate the clouds. A burning shape burst through the blanket of grey, like a tiny falling sun, and Dean knew that in the middle of that fireball, hurtling towards the earth, was his angel. The comet hit the ground a few miles away on the other side of the bunker, but the ground where Dean was standing trembled violently with the impact. Dean got back in to the car, palms sweating, heart racing, and sped as fast as he could towards the pillar of smoke rising from amongst the hills.

* * *

><p><strong>AN Please feel free to leave a review if you have a sec, I'd love to know what you guys are thinking. Looks like this is going to turn in to a decent length fic, I've got a lot of plans so stay tuned! CMPerry x**


	4. Revenge

Castiel wasn't hard to find. A large, smoking crater had appeared in the middle of one of the fields, a few miles on the other side of the bunker. Dean hastily parked the car and sprinted through the long grass, his heart hammering in his chest. The closer he got, the more he could see inside the crater, and he saw the burnt shadows of Cas's wings singed in to the ground, his limp body twisted in to an unnatural position.

"Oh God, Cas," he said, throwing himself down beside him. Cas's body was burnt and bruised, he wasn't moving. "Cas, don't you dare leave me again," Dean said, shaking him by the shoulders. "Cas!" Cas opened his eyes suddenly and Dean gasped with relief. "Thank God. I thought you were dead." Cas sat up, looking bewildered and shaken as Dean helped him to his feet. The angel leant heavily on him and struggled to put one foot in front of the other.

"How long was I gone?" he asked hoarsely.

"Like thirty seconds," Dean said. Cas frowned at the ground.

"It felt like many months."

"Months?" Dean repeated. "Where the hell were you?"

"I don't know," Cas said, starting to limp back towards the car, Dean supporting him all the way. "I was trapped in some kind of void between heaven and earth. The banishing sigil dragged me back to heaven but Metatron's spell kept me out so I was caught between the two opposing forces." He stopped in his tracks, breathless, staring at the grass in front of him. "I couldn't see but it was very loud, there was a constant roar that deafened me. I thought it would drive me insane." Dean felt anger well up inside him. He was going to kill Crowley for this. "It is good to hear your voice again," Cas added. "I didn't think I ever would."

"It's good to see you too, man," Dean said. They had finally reached the car and Dean helped him in to the passenger seat. His clothes were singed, the skin on the back of his neck was red and burnt, and so were his hands.

"Can't you heal yourself?" Dean asked, pulling Cas's collar down to look at his wounds.

"I don't have the strength," he said. "Being trapped has drained me of most of my power. If I lose any more energy I may die."

"Looks like we're going to have to do this the old fashioned way then," said Dean, hopping in to the car and starting her up. "Buckle up, angel."

* * *

><p>Dean led Cas to his bedroom before setting about collecting medical supplies. It felt strange having to treat Cas's injuries like he usually treated Sam's.<p>

"Take off your shirt," Dean said. Cas complied and began to undo his buttons but he didn't seem able to pull off the shirt, and when Dean pulled it from his back for him, he realised why. Cas's entire back was red raw, burnt and peeling. "Jeez, Cas, what happened here?"

"I didn't have enough strength to protect myself entirely from the fall. I appear to sustained some burns."

"You don't say." Dean started cleaning the blistered skin and Cas didn't even wince. "I thought you were dead," Dean said. "When I saw your wings, I thought..."

"That can happen when an angel comes close to death. I was very lucky." Every time Dean looked at the state of his angel, he desperately wanted to track down Crowley and beat him to death with some kind of blunt instrument. But equally he didn't want to leave Cas's side until he was better. Once he was finished, he packed away the first aid kit and looked at Cas who was about to redress.

"Keep your shirt off," Dean said. Cas obeyed but continued sitting immobile on the edge of the bed.

"Cas?"

"You need to assist Crowley in killing Abbadon," he said, reluctantly.

"Not a chance. Not after what he's done to you. I'm not going near that bastard again unless it's to put a bullet through his skull. I'll take down Abbadon on my own."

"You still have to find Sam."

"Not until I know you're okay." Cas lay down on his side and Dean was concerned by how exhausted he looked. He sat down beside him, absent-mindedly folding his shirt and trench coat in to a neat pile.

"You're a hypocrite," Cas said, after a moment.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's a Greek word meaning someone who pretends to have morals of beliefs that they do not actually possess." Dean was about to give an exasperated sigh when he noticed a little smirk on Cas's face.

"Did you just crack a joke?" Dean asked.

"I believe so." Cas said. Dean laughed.

"I feel like a proud momma bird." But his mirth vanished quickly as he saw Cas's weak smile fade.

"Seriously, Cas, are you okay?" he asked.

"Yes. I just need to rest. You should find Sam."

"No."

"Dean," Cas said, pushing himself up with a huge effort, his face just inches from his. The look of pain and exhaustion in his eyes almost broke Dean's heart. "You cannot be angry at Sam for not saving your life if you won't save his."

"He'll be fine. I'm sure Crowley was lying."

"Then how did Crowley get Sam's cell phone?" Dean was suddenly filled with doubt. Maybe Cas was right and Sam was being held hostage or tortured and Dean was sitting here in the bunker just letting it happen. Before he could make a decision on a plan of action, his cell phone rang and made the decision for him. It was one of Bobby's old hunter buddies who had a lead on Abbadon's second in command, who was last seen in a warehouse in Kansas with several other demons. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to lure out Abbadon and take her down once and for all. Then he would turn his attention to Crowley, kill him too and get Sam back.

Dean told Cas about the phone call. "Will you be okay?" Dean asked, feeling incredibly guilty.

"I'll be fine. If I was going to die, I would have done so already. As long as I don't use any more of my power I will eventually recover."

"You'd better," Dean said.

* * *

><p>A few hours later, Dean found himself panting slightly, covered in blood in the middle of a grey warehouse and surrounded by bodies. He had arrived to find six demons, all being ordered around by a huge, seriously ugly guy who seemed to be in some kind of position of authority. He had short black hair to match his little black eyes. He reminded Dean of a pig. Dean had killed two of the demons before the rest even realised what was going on. A minute later, the rest of them were dead too, all except the ringleader.<p>

"I suppose you're the deputy I've been hearing about," Dean said, holding the demon blade under his lumpy chin. "How fast do you think Abbadon will come running when she hears what I did to you?"

The demon didn't reply, he just laughed, a hysterical, hacking laugh, showing his yellowing teeth. Dean drove the blade in to his neck. In a spasm of orange light, the heavy demon fell to the ground, dead, his eyes still open and a manic smile still on his ugly face. Dean wiped off his knife and stowed it back in his jacket, observing the bloodshed before him. Admittedly, he felt a little better. It felt good to be proactive instead of sitting around worrying about everybody. Suddenly there was a voice behind him. His hand flew to his gun.

"What did your little angel friend look like when he crashed back to earth?" said a smarmy, English voice. "I would have paid good money to see that." Dean pulled his gun from his waistband and shot Crowley in the arm.

"Jesus Christ, what the hell is wrong with you?" Crowley exclaimed, clamping his hand to the bullet hole that was dripping blood down his sleeve. "This is my favourite suit."

"You almost killed him you son of a bitch," Dean said through gritted teeth. He thought Crowley looked genuinely surprised but a split second later, he was back to looking nonchalant.

"Well that's never happened before."

"Tell me where Sammy is."

"I don't have him, Squirrel."

"You're lying." Dean shot him in the other arm. The sound of the gunshot filled the entire warehouse with a long, metallic echo.

"Will you stop that?" Crowley yelled. "Scout's honour," he added, "I haven't seen the giant bastard in months. I just made a copy of his cell phone. A twelve year old could do it. I just needed to lure you out of the bunker so I could find you, dimwit. I don't give a monkeys about the Moose." Dean was surprised to find that he believed him. "Will you help me now?" Crowley added.

"No. Thanks to you I've got a broken angel in my bed."

"You're more than welcome," Crowley said, with a sly grin. "It's about time you boys admitted your feelings."

"Shut up Crowley. I'm working alone."

"You know your incessant stubbornness is getting rather wearing," Crowley said.

"Yeah, well so are you," Dean said, cringing inwardly and wishing he could have thought of a better comeback.

"Save the trash talk, darling, it's not your strong point." Just then, he caught sight of the bodies slumped behind the table and his face fell when he recognised the leader.

"You thundering moron," he said. "You do realise that he was Abbadon's second in command? He was our best chance at tracking down that bitch and now he's dead."

"Exactly. I'm tired of being two steps behind," Dean said. "I'm bringing Abbadon to me."

"Bloody hunters," he muttered. "No sense of finesse, you just shoot things until you find the one you're looking for. You're no better than cavemen."

"Hey, if it ain't broke," Dean said, feeling his frustration grow as so often happened when Crowley was around.

"You are seriously underestimating the element of surprise. You will never catch Abbadon if she knows you're coming."

"Wanna bet?" Crowley gave a long, theatrical sigh.

"I fear I've spoiled you boys. You seem to think all demons are as reasonable as I am." Dean just raised his eyebrows questioningly at Crowley. "She will kill you for this," he said, as though spelling out a sentence to a pre-schooler. "And I don't mean in the flirtatious way that we say it to each other, darling. She will actually kill you. No ifs or buts, no deals, no compromise."

"I'd like to see her try," Dean said.

"I wouldn't. You've really screwed up this time, Squirrel, and that's saying something. Give me a call if you're still alive in the morning." And with that, Crowley was gone, leaving Dean alone in the quiet warehouse. He pulled up an old metal chair, and sat down facing the door, gun in hand, stubbornly waiting for Abbadon.

Four hours later, night had completely fallen, and there was still no sign of her. Frustrated and embarrassed that Crowley had been right, Dean stood and threw his chair across the room.

"God damn it!" he yelled, his voice bouncing off the metal walls. He walked out of the warehouse and in to the rain, circling the warehouse once to make sure there were no witnesses to see him leaving a building with seven bodies inside it before making his way back down the silent streets.

He walked quickly through the rain, wishing he hadn't had to park the car so far away. As he walked passed a narrow, shady alleyway, he heard slow footsteps behind him. He pulled out his gun and turned, but there was nothing there, just parked cars and trashcans. He told himself that it was just his own footsteps echoing down the alley, but nevertheless, when he turned back, his pace was quicker and his palms felt a little sweaty.

At last, he caught sight of his Impala, parked in a shadowy spot, just outside the orange glow of a streetlamp. He was almost there when there were more footsteps, and this time he whipped around much faster, gun raised. Before he knew what was happening, a hand clamped over his mouth and dragged him backwards down a filthy, garbage-filled alleyway. He yelled in agony as a blinding, burning pain lit up his back, and his gun fell from his hand as his whole body spasmed in pain. He struggled against his attacker but his legs gave way beneath him as he was stabbed again, the only thing keeping him off the ground was the stranger's tight grip around his neck. The man thrust the knife in again and again and then one final time, twisting it hard. Dean was drowning in white hot pain as he felt the blade scrape against his ribs. As last, the man tossed him to the ground beside the trash bags. Through the gathering darkness, Dean watched the man wiped the knife on Dean's jacket, adding a long trail of blood to the pool that was dripping down his back and on to the floor of the alley. Without a word, the man pulled his hood over his black eyes and walked away, leaving Dean alone and immobile on the filthy, freezing ground.

* * *

><p><strong>AN Clearly I have a thing for cliffhangers... I know a lot of people don't have the patience for relatively long fics anymore, so if you're still with me, thank you! I'd love to hear your thoughts if you fancy dropping a review. See you soon, CMPerry.**


	5. Fallen

Dean struggled to sit upright. Whether it was from his injuries or the shock, he couldn't move his legs. He shifted himself back as best he could until his back was against the wet wall and he leaned his head against the side of a dumpster.

"Cas," he called. The alley remained silent as he lay slumped against the garbage, the only sound was his own stilted breath. No one walked by, no cars drove past, it was deserted and the only light came from a streetlamp out on the main road, throwing everything in to a dim orange silhouette. He didn't know how long he lay there, fighting to stay awake, knowing that if he gave himself up to the exhaustion that was building inside him he would never wake up. "I'm sorry Sammy," he whispered, feeling suddenly as though it was important for him to say everything he needed to say, even if no one was listening. "I'm so sorry for everything."

He grew colder and his breaths became shaky. He tried to stow his panic and focussed solely on breathing in and out, over and over, determined to keep on living just a little longer. A long while later he finally heard footsteps enter the alley.

"Cas," he said, squinting up into the faint light coming from the street beyond. A tall, thin shape came in to view. He couldn't make out any features, but he saw a flash of red hair.

"I'm afraid not," said Abbadon, strolling up to him casually. "You look terrible," she added. Dean forced himself to give a sarcastic smile.

"Well I feel super," he said. She crouched down beside him and he felt her hand press hard against his bleeding back. He closed his eyes and tried to muffle his cries of pain through gritted teeth. She didn't let go of him until he was almost unconscious.

"You have been a pain in my ass since day one, Dean Winchester, but killing Quentin was the last straw." Dean felt tears slip down his face, mingled with the cold sweat but nevertheless, he managed to string a few words together.

"What… kind… of a name… is Quentin?" Abbadon stepped back from him and stood up. He felt that invisible pressure around his neck as she dragged him upright without even needing to touch him.

"I would have killed you as soon as I heard that Quentin was dead," she said as he struggled to breathe, his feet dangling a few inches from the ground, feeling more hot blood drip down his back. "But I decided this would be a much more fitting death. You don't get to go out in a blaze of glory, not anymore." She seemed to have had this speech prepared for a long time. Somewhere far in the back of his mind, he tried to form a smart-assed comment, but the pressure building in his head and the spasms of pain radiating out from his back made it impossible.

"Do you know what I hate most about you, Dean?" Abbadon continued. "You think you're important, you actually think you make a difference. I'm not going to let you have any sense of importance anymore. You are nothing. You get to die in an alleyway like a cheap hooker, just like the insignificant scum that you are." Dean could no longer see, fighting hopelessly against Abbadon's hold around his neck, but he could hear the smile in her voice. She finally released him and he slid down the wall. His arm collided hard with the dumpster and he heard something crack before landing in a crumpled heap on the slimy ground.

"See you in Hell, Dean." Just as quickly as she had arrived, Abbadon was gone.

"Cas," he called, but he stopped when a terrible thought occurred to him. Cas was too weak to reach him, but that didn't mean he couldn't hear his pleas. Dean didn't want to torment him like that, it wasn't fair. He shoved his fear to the back of his mind, determined to face this by himself. All he could focus on was the foul smell of the garbage that he was lying in and the hiss of the rain on the ground. He looked around, and his feeble attempts at being brave crumbled away. He couldn't believe this was how he was going to die, in a stinking alley in a pool of blood, paralysed and scared.

"Sammy," he called in to the silence. "Anybody? Please." He could feel himself begin to slip into oblivion. "I don't want to go to Hell again," he choked between shuddering breaths. He felt his eyes close as he was dragged down in to blackness.

* * *

><p>He woke to the sound of Cas's voice, he felt hands on his shoulders, shaking him gently and let himself imagine for a second that it had all been a horrible dream and Cas was waking him after a nap in the bunker. He opened his eyes and saw the angel crouched next to him, staring intently at him.<p>

"Dean, say something."

"Hey," he said. He didn't even have time to be thankful that he was still alive before he noticed that there was something very wrong with Cas. The angel could barely stop himself from collapsing, the hem of his coat trailing in the filthy water that covered the ground. If Dean didn't know any better he would have said he was blackout drunk, grabbing Dean's shoulder tightly to stop himself tipping over. "Cas you shouldn't have come," he said.

"I'm sorry I took so long," he said, his words a little slurred. "It took me some time to be able to locate you and I found it very difficult to fly." Cas reached out a trembling hand, ready to heal Dean, but he pushed him away.

"No Cas," he said. "You're not strong enough, you'll kill yourself."

"I can't allow you to die," he said, his usually stoic face a mess of emotions. Dean took Cas's hand and held it tightly, partly to stop him from healing him, but also because he didn't want to feel alone.

"Maybe Sammy's right," Dean said, with an attempt at a laugh. "Maybe it's time to accept my fate."

"No," Cas growled. "You're exhausted and weak, you don't mean that."

"Yeah, I do," Dean said. "Everyone has to die sometime. I can't fight it anymore Cas, I'm done."

"Stop it Dean. Let me heal you."

"No."

"Then at least let me take you to a hospital." Cas stood up, never letting go of Dean's hand, and tried to pull him to his feet, but their combined strength was nothing short of pitiful.

"There's no point," Dean said, slumping back against the wall, feeling his breath slow once more. Cas fell to his knees beside him, his face a mixture of grief and exhaustion. "Look at the state of us," Dean murmured, smiling a little as he let go of Cas's hand. "Just take care of Sammy." Cas stared at him, looking as though he was searching for the right words.

"Dean, I - "

"Hello boys." Dean opened his eyes, complete surprise dragging him back from the brink of unconsciousness. Silhouetted against the faint orange light was Crowley, and standing beside him was a much taller, much broader shape.

"Sammy?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN Just a short chapter this week but I really hope you enjoyed it, I promise it won't always be so depressing. I would love it if you could leave a review with any thoughts, feelings, suggestions etc. Hearing from you really makes my day. I h****ope you're well. CMPerry :)**


	6. Time

"Dean!" Sam ran to him and fell to his knees beside him. "What the hell happened?"

"Abbadon happened," said Crowley. "I told you this would happen, didn't I Squirrel? So I went and found your runaway Moose. Thought you might want him here for your big angsty death scene."

"Cas, heal him," said Sam, desperately, ignoring Crowley completely.

"No," Dean said, grabbing hold of Sam's jacket. "He can't. He'll die." Sam didn't speak for a a few seconds, but he stared at Cas as though considering asking him to do it anyway.

"We need to get to a hospital," Sam said eventually, putting a hand on his brother's face, trying to keep him awake, but Dean's head had fallen limply on his chest. "Dean?" Sam asked, lifting his chin and trying to wake him. "Dean!"

"I tried to get him to the hospital," Cas said, "but he wouldn't let me."

"Who says he gets a choice?" Sam said and in one swift motion, he grabbed Dean's arm and pulled limp, bloody body over his shoulder. "Let's go."

"Sam I can't teleport," Cas said, struggling to his feet and looking ashamed. "I barely made it here in one piece. If I try to teleport with you, it could kill us all."

"Where's the car?" Sam asked.

"I don't know," said Cas. "But driving is too slow. He'll never make it to a hospital alive." The rain intensified, sheets of water falling from the sky and soaking in to their clothes. Fast running out of ideas, Sam looked desperately to Crowley.

"Oh, you must be joking," Crowley said. "I reunited you with your brother, you can't possibly expect me to chauffeur you to the bloody hospital as well. I'm the sodding King of Hell!"

"Crowley, we don't have time for this!"

"He's dying, Sam," Cas said, his voice cracking.

"Crowley!"

"Alright, alright," he snapped, grabbing a hold of Sam's arm. Through the rain, he looked over to Cas who was leaning against the wall, breathing heavily. "You can walk to the hospital," he said. "I draw the line at angels." Cas nodded and took a few shaky steps forward, gripping the wall to stop himself from falling.

Crowley watched him flounder for a second before growling with frustration. "Oh for the love of Satan. Climb on, you impotent fairy." Cas looked unhappy to be accepting help from the demon that injured him in the first place, but gripped Sam's arm nevertheless and with a violent lurch, they were suddenly in the middle of a bright, noisy emergency room.

Several people gasped and looked around in horror at the four soaking wet men who had just appeared from nowhere. Cas could barely stand, Sam was covered in his brother's blood, Dean was hanging over Sam's shoulder, battered and lifeless, and Crowley stood quite calmly, apparently unaffected by any of it.

"I need help," Sam called. "Please, someone help." Two nurses and a doctor ran over to them, wheeling a gurney. Sam lowered Dean on to the bed and they swept him away immediately, talking seriously and urgently to each other. A second later, he was out of sight and Sam stood blankly in the big room, completely unaware of the looks of horror he was getting from the other patients. There was blood all over his hands, his neck, his chest. _So much blood_, was all he could think.

"Sir?" said a nurse. Sam turned and saw the blonde, middle-aged woman talking to Cas, who was swaying where he stood. "Sir, let's get you looked at."

"No," Cas said.

"You need help."

"No," he repeated. "There is nothing earthly medicine can do for me." The nurse looked confused.

"Sir... have you been drinking?" she asked tentatively.

"No. I suffered serious injuries after being banished to Heaven by this man," he said, looking at Crowley. "Then I fell through the atmosphere in a ball of flame and landed in a field." The nurse just stared.

"Cas maybe you should go get some rest," Sam said, grabbing him by the arm to support him. He glanced over to the nurse who looked like she was either about to call security or have Cas committed. "He's really drunk," Sam added. She just nodded and backed away from them, returning to her other, sane, patients.

"Okay, what's your angle," Sam said, rounding on Crowley suddenly, needing something to keep his mind off Dean.

"I haven't got an angle," he said, feigning indignance.

"Bullshit," Sam said loudly, attracting even more attention from the crowd in the emergency room.

"I don't have any ulterior motives here, Moosey," Crowley said, in hushed tones. "I could use some assistance in killing Abbadon and you are the only hunters who will work for me."

"Work _with _you. Not for you," Sam corrected. "And I wouldn't count on our help."

"Whatever. The bottom line is you're no use to me dead, so while Abbadon is around I could be convinced to help you from time to time. But once that bitch is dead, I don't give a toss what happens to any of you raging imbeciles. You can rot in Hell for all I care." Sam smirked as Crowley got increasingly more defensive about his actions. "Oh shut up," he said, evidently angered by Sam's expression. A second later, he had vanished.

Unwillingly, Sam turned to Cas and saw his own fear and panic reflected in the angel's eyes. "Cas," he said. "What if he dies?" They sat down on two uncomfortable plastic seats, side by side, both of them too scared to answer that question.

* * *

><p>"This is stupid," Sam said, he stood up, walked a few paces and sat back down again, rubbing his cold, clammy hands together, trying to keep a hold of himself. "It's been hours. Someone should be telling us what's happening. Why isn't anyone telling us anything?"<p>

"You are feeling helpless because you are usually in control of situations but at this moment in time there is nothing you can do for Dean because his fate rests largely on chance and the capabilities of his doctors. Therefore you are angry. Is that right?" Sam stared at Cas.

"Dude. What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to understand your emotional state. I was getting the hang of it when I was human but I didn't learn everything. Human emotions are very complex."

"You can say that again."

"Was I correct?"

"Yeah. I guess so," Sam said rubbing his face with his hands and pushing his long hair from his eyes. "I mean, I know we die a lot," he said, "but I still see Dean as bulletproof. He bounces back after everything he's been through… after everything I've put him through. I can't imagine him not bouncing back this time." Cas nodded slowly. There was something off about the angel. Usually so tense and serious, he was now slumped in his seat, eyes half shut. He looked human, but worse than that, he looked like a sick human. Just as Sam was thinking this, however, Cas snapped upright like a meerkat, staring down the seemingly empty corridor.

"Cas what's wrong?"

"There's a Reaper here."

"There will be lots of people dying around here," Sam said, reassuring himself more than anything else. "It won't be for Dean."

Before Cas had a chance to disagree, a tall, dark haired doctor was walking towards them. Sam went cold when he saw the expression on his face.

"Are you the one who brought in the stabbing victim?" the doctor asked.

"Yeah," Sam said, standing up. "What's going on? How is he?"

"He's out of surgery, but he sustained some very serious injuries. There's damage to his spinal cord, kidneys and lungs and he's broken and dislocated his arm." Sam felt sick, but that was quickly replaced by annoyance when he saw the accusatory expression on the doctor's face.

"What did you say happened to him again?" the doctor asked, watching him carefully.

"I didn't," Sam said, viewing the doctor with equal suspicion. "He was mugged."

"And how exactly do you know him?"

"He's my brother."

"And you didn't see his attacker?"

"No."

"And you have no idea what kind of weapon may have been used?"

"No!"

"How long was he injured before you brought him in."

"I don't know. A half hour maybe?"

"And who is this gentleman?" he asked, nodding to Cas.

"A family friend." The barrage of questions finally came to an end as the doctor scanned Sam from head to toe, taking in his blood covered skin and wet clothes. He still didn't look satisfied or at all pleased with Sam, but he beckoned him over to the reception desk.

"I'll need to take some details from you, Mr..?"

"Singer," Sam said.

* * *

><p>Sam rushed through the forms and almost threw them across the desk to the receptionist. "Can we see him now?" he asked. The doctor led them through several long corridors, all seemingly identical. Every so often Cas would turn his head as though watching someone walk by and Sam had the unnerving feeling that the hospital was crawling with Reapers, perhaps all keen to be the one to get their hands on the legendary Dean Winchester.<p>

"It will be some time before he regains consciousness," the doctor said, when they entered Dean's room. Sam's eyes fell on his brother, lying in the tiny bed, tubes in his throat and one of his arms. The other arm was in a cast from wrist to shoulder. He looked so small under the blue hospital blankets. Sam absent-mindedly thanked the doctor and he left them alone with Dean. Cas walked over to his bedside and stared down at him.

"I used to watch him when he was sleeping," Cas said.

"That's really weird," Sam said, standing on the other side of Dean, not sure what to do with himself.

"I didn't fully understand social norms back then."

"You don't fully understand them now," Sam said, glancing up at the angel with a half-hearted smile to let him know he was kidding. "Sit down," he added as Cas began to sway again. They both pulled up chairs and watched the slow, rhythmic breathing of the single most important person in their lives.

"Maybe I could heal him now," Cas said. "The doctors repaired some of the damage and I feel stronger."

"You're a terrible liar."

"I have to do something," Cas said, looking up at Sam, who was surprised to see that there were tears in his eyes.

"Now you know how it feels to be me," Sam said. He reached out and put a hand on Dean's uninjured arm, gripping it tightly and desperately wishing that he hadn't left it so late to try and patch things up with his big brother.

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><p><strong>AN Thanks for reading! Please drop me a quick review if you're enjoying the story. I absolutely love hearing from you. All the best, CMPerry.**


	7. Sacrifice

Half an hour went by where neither Cas nor Sam spoke, they just stared at Dean, both wrapped in their own heads, playing their worst nightmares over and over again, wondering if they were going to come true. Dean's chest was rising and falling rhythmically in time with the respirator which was making little hissing a clicking noises as it breathed for him. The ECG machine beeped slightly out of time with his breaths. The little orchestra of sounds seemed deafening in the quiet room as they counted out each painful second. Sam eventually announced that he was going for a walk, that he couldn't stand doing nothing anymore, and just like that he got up and left. Cas stood up and listened until he knew Sam was far down the corridor.

He pushed the brown hair from Dean's forehead, feeling his cool and clammy skin beneath his fingertips. He pressed two fingers to Dean's skin, using a little of his very limited power to assess Dean's injuries. The doctor was either completely incompetent or he had been sugarcoating the situation because Dean was in terrible shape, he was never going to regain consciousness. He probably wouldn't last more than a few hours.

Cas felt confused, looking down at that stranger in the bed. Although it felt much longer to him, it had been less than a day ago that they were playing Twister in the bunker, Dean had laughed until he cried, full of witty remarks and warm smiles. Now he lay there, grey-skinned, empty and still. Cas was very familiar with death, but this sensation, whatever it was, was very new to him.

With a rush of dread, he was suddenly aware of another presence in the room. Standing by the door was a tall, dark-haired woman, dressed all in black. She was staring at Cas.

"You're Castiel," she said.

"Yes," he replied, walking around the bed to stand between the Reaper and Dean.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked, seemingly with genuine curiosity in her brown eyes.

"I fell from heaven a few hours ago," he said. "I'm not fully recovered yet."

"No, that's not it," she said, frowning slightly. "You're not like other angels."

"That's putting it lightly," he said. There was silence for a few seconds, and Cas reached behind him to lay a hand on Dean. "You're not needed here."

"Come on, Castiel. Half the Reapers in the country are in this hospital waiting to take him." She looked from Cas to Dean and her expression softened slightly. "It's time."

"No. I can heal him."

"We wouldn't be here if you could heal him. It's time for you to let him go. Stand aside."

"I said no," he said, his voice rising like thunder and reverberating off the painted walls. The Reaper looked taken aback.

"I'm trying to be tactful here, but the reality is you can't heal him without killing yourself. He's as good as dead already."

"Don't tell me what I am capable of. I could destroy you in a second." A small smile crept on to her face.

"Maybe on a good day," she said, approaching Dean. "Come on, Castiel, you aren't going to kill yourself for this mortal. That's all he is, no matter how famous he is amongst hunters."

"You have just made two terrible mistakes," Cas said, dropping the angel blade from his sleeve and in to his hand. "Never underestimate Dean Winchester." She reached out to push Cas aside and he plunged the blade in to her chest, felt the hilt hit bone. "And _never_ underestimate me." With a piercing scream and a blast of white light she crumpled to the ground.

Cas was breathing heavily, his hands shaking slightly as he glanced up to make sure no one had overheard the commotion. He stood frozen for a second, waiting for the door to burst open and a crowd of people to find him standing over the body of a stabbing victim with another body at his feet and a bloody knife in his hand, but no one came. He dropped the blade to the ground with a loud clatter and turned back to Dean, suddenly feeling panicked by the pressure of a hundred Reapers on his tail.

"Dean," he said, not quite sure what he was doing. "I don't imagine you can hear me but that Reaper was right. Healing you will kill me but…" he faltered, looking for the words to convey his feelings. He stared up at the ceiling as though he expected the right words to be written there. At last he glanced back down at Dean and said, "I have no interest in walking this earth if you are not on it with me."

He felt a sudden, cold breath of air behind him and he turned around. He saw nothing but the plain white wall and the square window, but had the unnerving feeling that someone or something had just touched his face. But he didn't have time to worry about that, he turned back to Dean and gathered his strength.

"This is the only way to save you. Please don't blame yourself," he added, although he knew that was exactly what Dean would do. "I have many conflicting emotions right now, many of which are very painful. I feel... broken." He frowned, frustrated with himself that once again he couldn't find the proper words.

Something smashed at his feet. A cheap looking vase was in a hundred pieces on the floor, the plastic flower it had contained resting on his shoe. He looked around and saw a circular stain on the windowsill where the vase had previously stood.

"Who's there?" he asked the silent room. Nothing. Perhaps a patient in the hospital was having an out of body experience and their astral form was in the room with him. Perhaps it was Dean. "Is that you?" he asked. Still silence. He shook his head, telling himself that it had been a non-existent draft that had knocked over the vase.

He took a deep breath, and looking down at Dean he realised that he wasn't afraid to die. He reached out to place his hand on Dean's face. The second he touched his skin, Cas was blinded by white light as every last atom of strength was drained from him, he was immobilised, a high-pitched, constant scream deafened him. He felt like he had just been banished again but he had no idea if he was even still inside the hospital, let alone if he had managed to save Dean. _Let him live_, he thought before the blinding whiteness faded to silent black.

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><p>But instead of infinite darkness, Cas opened his eyes and found himself slumped in a chair by Dean's bed. Sam's hand was on his shoulder.<p>

"Cas, Dean's awake." He opened his eyes to see a baffled looking doctor standing over Dean who was wide awake and sitting up, looking as bright as ever. Cas's eyes scanned the floor, the body of the Reaper was gone. He looked questioningly up at Sam who gave him a quick wink.

"I don't understand this," the doctor said, pushing Dean forward and untying his hospital gown to inspect the stab wounds on his back. "The lacerations are still here, your arm is still broken, but all your internal injuries have healed. I am not a religious man, but frankly," he said, looking from Dean to Sam, "this is nothing short of a miracle."

"Yeah, it's a real mystery," Dean said, dryly, glaring at Cas. The doctor checked his various monitors one last time before asking Sam to fill out some insurance forms. Sam patted Dean on the shoulder before following the doctor out. As soon as they were gone, Dean rounded on Cas. "I know what you did," Dean said.

"I didn't do anything," Cas said, staring fixedly at the corner of the bed.

"You're a terrible liar."

"Why do people keep saying that?" Cas asked.

"I was standing right behind you when I was unconscious," Dean said. "I saw everything."

"You _were_ having an out of body experience," Cas realised. "I felt your presence. You touched my face."

"Actually I punched you, but it didn't quite have the impact I was hoping for. You could have killed yourself, what were you thinking?"

"I don't understand why you still have injuries," Cas said, evading the question. "I should have cured you entirely or died in the process." Now Dean was the one looking shifty. "You stopped me from healing you entirely, didn't you?" Cas said. "You pulled me off of you while you were in your astral form."

"Yeah. It took a hell of an effort to knock over that vase, let alone drag a buck-seventy angel off of me, but I wasn't about to let you die."

"That was incredibly dangerous," Cas said. "You could have killed yourself or been trapped outside of your body forever." Dean shrugged.

"Danger's my middle name," he said, with a smile. Cas still looked concerned.

"You don't have a middle name."

"I know that, Cas."

"I'm sorry I haven't healed you," he muttered.

"Hey, I'm alive aren't I? Don't you dare go feeling bad about that." Cas nodded. Dean turned around and pushed himself out of bed, unable to stay mad at the angel when he already looked so disappointed in himself. "Come here, you beautiful moron," he said, pulling Cas into a one-armed hug.

Cas hugged him back, a little stiffly at first, but Dean thought he was getting the hang of this physical contact thing. Dean had his back to the door, but he heard Sam enter the room.

"Uh… Dean," he said. "Do you know your gown doesn't have a back? I'm seeing a little more than I need to…"

"It's okay if you're jealous," Dean said to him, slapping Cas heartily on the back before eventually releasing him.

"Hey, it's not like I haven't seen your ass before, but this nurse probably doesn't need to see it." Dean spun around to see a very pretty nurse staring at him with a little smirk on her face.

"Mr Singer," she said. Dean stared at Sam. Sam nodded slightly behind the nurse's back to let him know that he was Mr Singer.

"That's me," Dean said. "Mr Singer. Born and raised. Mr Dean Singer." Sam rolled his eyes and then something seemed to catch his eye and he grinned widely. Dean didn't understand why Sam was laughing until he realised that he now had his back to Cas who was getting a front row seat to his bare backside. He grabbed the sheet from the bed and wrapped it around himself.

"Would you get me some pants please?!" he asked Sam.

"Sure," Sam said. "I'm going to go back to the bunker anyway. You want anything else?"

"Nah, just clothes." Sam nodded, taking one last amused look at Cas who seemed complete unfazed by Dean's semi-nakedness. Just as he turned to leave, Dean added, "Would you bring my laptop? And pie. And maybe a burger. Oh and a couple beers? Maybe a magazine too. You know which one." Sam smirked, shook his head in mock exasperation, and left.

"Mr Singer, I have to change your dressings and do a couple blood tests."

"I'll go," said Cas.

"You don't have to," Dean said, but Cas walked out in to the hall anyway. Dean sat up straight while the nurse began to peel off his bandages and he noticed a shining silver wedding ring on her finger. He wasn't sure he felt better or worse about presenting his ass to a married woman.

"You're incredibly lucky to be alive," she said. "The doctors are going to be talking about this one for years. They're already calling it the Singer Miracle." Dean laughed.

"Yeah, well it's all thanks to him," he said, looking out at Cas who had only gone as far as the hallway outside, and was staring intently at the wall.

"I don't mean to be rude," she said, "but he's a little different, isn't he?"

"Yeah," said Dean, smiling at how out of place Cas looked. "He doesn't really understand human interaction."

"He seems to understand you," she said.

"I guess so."

"You're a really lucky guy," she said.

"So I keep being told."

"I don't mean surviving the attack," she said, allowing him to lean back in the bed again and looking over her shoulder at Cas, absent-mindedly playing with her wedding ring, a little smile on her lips. "It's not often you find a love like that. Don't ever let it go." Dean smiled again and Cas looked in at him, still standing stiffly in everyone's way. But then he realised what the nurse was implying.

"We're not… I mean, he's not my…"

"Say no more," the nurse said, but instead of looking embarrassed by the misunderstanding she just smiled a knowing smile. "You take care Mr Singer."

Once the nurse was gone, he looked back out in to the corridor, but Cas had vanished. Feeling strangely disappointed, Dean picked up the TV remote and started flicking through the channels. He watched a few minutes of an episode of Dr Sexy MD before deciding he had already seen it. When he switched over to the local news station, he dropped the remote in surprise.

"Damn it, Crowley," he said. Almost immediately, Cas walked through the door followed by a confused and frustrated looking Sam.

"I don't believe we're in Kansas anymore," Cas said.

"You think, Dorothy?" Dean said.

"Why the hell are we in Alaska?" asked Sam.

"I think it's Crowley's way of reminding us that he's still a complete dickbag," Dean said. Then he was suddenly struck by a deeply concerning thought. He looked up at his brother. "They still have pie in Alaska, right?"

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><p><strong>AN Thanks again for reading, your support has been brilliant. Please leave a review if you have a minute! CMPerry x**


	8. Amends

**A/N Hey guys, so sorry for the delay, I got some serious writer's block! Hopefully things will start running a little more smoothly now!**

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><p>A few hours later, Sam had returned from his excursion with a plastic bag full of clothes and food, his shoulders damp and dusted with snow. He swept the little snowflakes from his dark jacket and when he drew his hand away his palm was red with Dean's blood. He had almost forgotten the trauma of the night before, carrying Dean's limp body out of the alley, feeling the hot blood soak his clothes. Looking at Dean now, sitting upright in bed, green eyes sparkling, a stupid smile on his face it was hard to believe how close he had come to losing him. Sam reached out and wiped his hand on the front of Dean's hospital gown, leaving a red streak right down his front.<p>

"Dude!" Dean protested. Sam smiled and emptied the bag on to the bed, before peeling off his ruined jacket and throwing it on to the chair. He had managed to find Dean some pie, but he had struggled a little with the clothes situation. Dean pulled out a thick granddad-style sweater from the pile on the bed. He held it up and observed it with horror.

"Sammy, what in God's name is this?"

"I know," Sam said, wrinkling his nose a little in disgust at the woolly abomination before them. "But it's really cold out and this is all they had."

"Don't they have plaid in Alaska?" Sam shrugged. "I'll just wear what I had on earlier," Dean said.

"You can't. Your shirt's got so many knife holes in it it's basically a string vest."

"My jacket?"

"Looks like a sieve." Dean crushed the ugly sweater back in to the bag with a resigned sigh. The brothers sat in silence for a moment before they met each other's eyes and laughed. But a second later, they fell quiet again, both feeling the conversation they needed to have hanging over them like a thunderstorm. Eventually Dean spoke.

"Now do you understand why I saved you when you were in that coma?"

"You can't compare that to this," Sam said, running his hands through his hair. "This was completely different situation."

"This was an identical situation," Dean snapped back. "I don't know how long I was in that alley, but by the time you got there, I was ready to go man. I was so tired, I didn't think you were ever coming back and I honestly wouldn't have minded dying."

"So you wish I hadn't saved you?"

"No, that's what I'm saying. I'm glad you did. I wasn't thinking straight. That's why I needed you there, to force me to keep going, even when things looked really bleak." Sam looked out the window for a while and Dean wondered if he was going to go off on another rant about how it wasn't Dean's right to bring him back from the dead, but he didn't

"I guess I understand why you did it," he said, not quite meeting his eye. "I couldn't have watched you die back there."

"Is that an apology?" Dean said with a smirk.

"Don't push it," Sam said, and then he did something that he hadn't done since he was ten. He rested his head on his big brother's shoulder. Dean put his arm around him and smiled. It wasn't as comfortable or natural a position now that Sammy was approximately the size of Bigfoot, rather than the skinny little thing he had been when they were young, but Dean wouldn't have traded that moment for the world.

"Are we good?" Dean asked.

"Yeah," Sam said, lifting his head and clearing his throat as though trying to dislodge the slight awkwardness of the situation. "I think we're good."

"Dean and Sam are back in business," Dean said.

"It's Sam and Dean actually."

"No way, it's Dean and Sam. It's alphabetical. And eldest first," he said, shoving Sam with his shoulder.

"Not a chance man," Sam said, grinning. "Dean and Sam doesn't even sound right." Dean didn't try to argue anymore, he was too busy enjoying the feeling of normality. He felt at last like things could go back to the way they were when Bobby was alive. Movie nights, poker games, calling each other names as they drove along a winding road in the middle of nowhere…

Cas appeared a short while later, still looking tired, but he was a little steadier on his feet. He stood at the foot of Dean's bed.

"How do you propose we get back to Kansas?"

"Steal a car, I guess," Dean said, finding that he was actually pretty excited by the idea of a long drive with his brother and his best friend.

"Road trip," Sam said, with a grin.

"Shotgun!" shouted Cas, so abruptly that Sam and Dean looked at him in surprise. Sam scoffed,

"I don't think so, buddy." He looked to his brother for support, but Dean just raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

"Sorry, Sammy, rules are rules." Cas beamed with pride.

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><p>Dean dressed in the thick, grey, woollen sweater, his back burning with a dull pain as he stretched his arms. He felt tired and every bone in his body ached, but all in all, he didn't feel too bad for being stabbed eight times. What he wanted more than anything right now was to be home in the bunker with a beer in his hand. Everything else could wait.<p>

Sam came back in to the room dangling a set of car keys in his hand. He looked like he was about to explain where he had found them when he caught sight of Dean's sweater. A look of barely controlled laughter spread across his face.

"Shut up Sam," Dean snapped, scratching at his arms and looking enviously at Sam who was still wearing his plaid shirt, despite it being splattered with blood stains. "You bought this monstrosity, you should be wearing it."

"But you look so pretty!" They were interrupted by the door swinging open with such force that it banged against the wall. Two cops stood in the doorway, each looking as serious as the other.

"Sam Winchester?"

"Yes," he said hesitantly. As soon as the word was out of his mouth, the taller cop grabbed him by the arm and pushed him against the wall, twisting his arm up and behind his back.

"Get your hands off him," Dean yelled, jumping to his feet. "What the hell is going on?" Pinned against the wall, Sam felt the second cop pat him down forcefully, almost instantly coming across the knife he kept strapped around his ankle. The cop pulled out the knife and showed it to his partner. Sam heard the rattle of handcuffs and felt cold metal clamp tightly around his wrist.

"Sam Winchester, you're under arrest for attempted murder."

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><p><strong>AN As always, thanks for reading and please leave a review if you have a moment. I've started writing a series of Destiel one-shots that I'll start uploading when this story is finished, so if you would be interested in reading those, feel free to follow me! Take care, CMPerry x**


	9. There's No Place Like Home

"Are you out of your freaking mind?" Dean said. "I'm sitting right here. He didn't do this."

"Sir, please stay out of this," said the tall, brown haired cop, before gripping Sam tightly by the upper arm. "You're going to have to come down to the station."

"It's okay, Dean," Sam said, looking thoroughly done. "We'll sort this out later."

"No, we're gonna sort this now." Dean was about to go off on a rant about how completely ridiculous the whole situation was, when a cold feeling of dread rushed over him. _Winchester, _he thought. _They called him Winchester._

Slowly and casually, trying not to attract any unwanted attention, Dean reached out and placed his hand on the chart that was hanging over the end of his bed, his fingers resting just over the line that read: Dean Singer. No one here could have known their real names, which meant that the two armed cops that were restraining his brother weren't cops at all.

"Sammy," he said, fixing him with a look that meant only one thing - we're in trouble. "You let me know if you need a hand." Sam took the hint and glanced down to his Dean's hand and his eyes widened.

At once, Sam and Dean lunged at the cops. Sam threw himself against the one who was holding him and even with his hands cuffed behind his back, he was strong enough to send him flying backwards in to the wall. Dean punched the other cop across the face with his uninjured hand and tried to reach for his gun, but the cop retaliated instantly by kicking Dean hard in the stomach, making him stumble backwards. Sam rushed to Dean's side, just as the two policemen straightened up. Simultaneously, they blinked and their eyes flicked to black.

"Nice try," said the tall one, closing the door slowly behind him and drawing the blinds. Together they pulled their guns from their holsters and pointed them at Sam and Dean. "Abbadon sends her regards." Dean stepped reflexively in front of Sam.

"What the hell do we do now?" Sam whispered.

"I don't know," Dean hissed back. "Talk!"

"Uh, you know Crowley would be pretty mad if he heard you had killed us," Sam said, hurriedly. The frontmost demon gave a short, derisive laugh.

"We don't work for Crowley anymore."

"But he's still the King of Hell. I don't know about you, but I wouldn't want to mess with him. And he's pretty fond of us." For a split second, Dean thought he saw a flash of doubt on their faces. But the taller demon shrugged and raised his gun to point at Dean. He clicked the hammer in to position, aimed between Dean's eyes. With a strangled cry of pain and a flash of orange light, the demon at the door fell to the ground, revealing Cas standing behind him, a look of fury on his face.

"Dean," he said, tossing an angel blade over to him. Dean caught it, just as the second demon raised his gun again. Cas threw himself at the demon grabbing him by the arms and holding him tightly. The demon fought hard against him, waving the gun blindly. In one swift movement, Dean lunged forward and thrust the blade in to the demon's chest, and as he did so, the gun went off in his hand. The demon fell to his knees and joining his partner on the floor, twitching and spasming with orange light.

"Good timing," Dean said breathlessly, grinning at Cas. But Cas's face fell when he looked behind Dean at Sam, and realised where the stray bullet had landed. Dean whipped around and saw fresh blood begin to soak through Sam's flannel shirt.

"Sammy."

"I'm okay," he said, walking over to the bed and sitting down, hands still cuffed behind him. Dean tugged up his brother's shirt roughly, inspecting the damage. The bullet had only grazed him, but still it left a long, deep trench in his skin. "Seriously Dean, I'm fine, would you just get these cuffs off me?" Dean searched through Sam's jacket for a moment before finally finding the lock pick and freeing his brother. "Can we please go home now?" Sam asked, stripping the pillow case from the pillow on the bed and pressing it to his bleeding side. But before Dean could agree, he heard a familiarly infuriating voice.

"Wassup fellas." Crowley stood once again in the room with them, leaning against the wall, looking terrible. "Oh that's not right. I meant hello boys."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Sam asked, observing the so-called King of Hell with mild disgust.

"Nothing," he slurred, pushing his hair away from his sweaty forehead. "I have to tell you something really important. Abbadon is sending two demons after you and they'll be here any minute so you have to go. Cos, y'know, they might kill you."

"You're a little late to the party," Dean said. Crowley looked confused for a second before he noticed the bodies on the floor.

"Woops," he said, with a chuckle. Discarding his pillowcase, Sam walked up to him, grabbed him firmly by the arm and pushed up his jacket sleeve, revealing several red puncture wounds in his pallid skin.

"He's on human blood again," Sam said, dropping his grip on Crowley as though he were radioactive. Crowley pulled his sleeve back down, covering the needle marks, but immediately started scratching at them. He reminded Dean of a dog covered in fleas.

"So this is why you helped us," Sam said. "You're off your face on human emotions."

"Can't I just do something nice for a couple of boys who have been through enough as it is?" Crowley asked, his voice cracking.

"No," said Dean, Sam and Cas in unison.

"Get out of here Crowley," Dean said. "Unless you have a lead on the First Blade I don't want to see you. And clean yourself up. Seriously, have a bit of self-respect."

"You know you're really starting to hurt my feelings," he said, before he vanished.

"We need to leave," Cas said, glancing back at the spot where Crowley had stood with resentment in his eyes. "Someone will have heard the gunshot and we can't be found with two dead police officers."

They gathered their things, picked up the guns from the floor and slipped out of the door in to the hallway. A few people turned to look at them as they emerged.

"Sorry," Dean said, closing the door carefully behind him. "Guess I had the TV on a little loud." They walked swiftly along the corridor, away from the suspicious glares of the staff and as soon as they were out of sight, they started running and didn't stop until they were standing out in the snow, two blocks away from the hospital.

Sam and Dean were panting by the time they felt they were a safe distance from the bloody crime scene, and Cas looked on the verge of toppling over again. Dean pulled the angel's arm over his shoulder while Sam hurried down the row of parked cars looking for one with the door open.

"You okay?" Dean asked, glancing at Cas.

"Never better," he said with a little smile. At last, Sam found a red Toyota that someone had left unlocked and went to open the front passenger door, but Dean stopped him.

"Nice try, Sammy, but Cas is riding shotgun, remember?"

"How are you going to drive with your arm in a cast anyway?" Sam protested.

"I'll still drive better than you can with both hands." Dean helped an exhausted Cas in to the front before setting about hot-wiring their new ride. As they sat in the car, two police cars flew past, sirens blaring, heading for the hospital, and Dean got the feeling that they wouldn't be welcome in Alaska for the next few years. At last the engine growled in to life and Dean pulled out on to the road.

"You ready to get back to Kansas, Dorothy?" Dean asked, grinning at Cas.

"Absolutely," he said.

Dean looked at Sam in the rear view mirror. "How about you, Toto?"

"Shut up." There was a short silence and then Sam added, "jerk."

Dean glanced back at his brother with a smile. "Bitch."

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><p>One week, five motels and three and a half thousand miles later they made it back to the bunker. Most of their injuries had healed and Dean had hacked off the cast on his arm with the demon blade on their second day, not just because it was irritating him, but also because Sammy had drawn impressively graphic pictures all over it while Dean was sleeping, and he was somewhat uncomfortable to be seen in public with it.<p>

Their first night back home was a quiet one. They decided to continue Cas's cultural education by watching the Lord of the Rings, and as far as Dean could tell, he was enjoying it almost as much as Sam. Cas was leaning forward in his seat, head tilted slightly to the side, engrossed in the movie, while Sam was staring fixedly at the screen, blindly shovelling popcorn in to his mouth. As he observed his little family, Dean felt a strange sense of deja vu and it took him a moment to realise why it felt familiar.

"If Cas was sitting about an inch away from me, this scene would be perfect." Dean said and then he stopped abruptly as he realised he had said the words aloud. Cas looked over at his curiously, Sam choked on a mouthful of beer.

"Something you want to tell me?" Sam asked, wiping his chin. Dean chuckled and scratched the back of his head, trying to hide his slight embarrassment.

"Okay, so back in the alleyway when I thought I was going to die, I uh… tried to think of a happy place and this is the first thing that came to mind. You know, us hanging out, Cas ignoring all social etiquette… that kind of stuff."

"This is your happy place?" Sam asked, looking around at the dimly lit room. "A dusty bunker and cold pizza? It's not very imaginative." Dean just shrugged but Cas seemed to have a moment of realisation and he smiled.

"The location and activities aren't important," he said. "You're happy because we're together and no one is arguing or dying."

"Bingo," said Dean. Cas scooted along the sofa until he was right beside Dean who laughed, kicked his feet up on to the table and put his arm around the back of the couch. Sam met his eye and he smiled too.

"You know what?" said Sam. "I take it back. This isn't a bad place to be."

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><p><strong>AN Well, that's it! Thank you so much for reading. I would love to hear what you guys thought of the story, you make my day! Take care, CMPerry.**


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